


An Invitation

by Lindwurm



Category: Whyborne and Griffin - Jordan L. Hawk
Genre: Crossover, M/M, One Shot, Universe Alteration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-22
Updated: 2018-03-22
Packaged: 2019-04-06 11:40:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14056221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lindwurm/pseuds/Lindwurm
Summary: My correspondence had gotten rather odd of late.Whyborne inFallowset afterMaelstrom





	An Invitation

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Приглашение](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12676125) by [Lindwurm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lindwurm/pseuds/Lindwurm). 



> themes: catastrophe, mystery, flaff

*

First was the letter from London, addressed to Whyborne. The envelope seemed too cold to touch and there stood simply "Lomdon, Benthic College" for the sender, as if it was enough. When Whyborne opened it, slightly intrigued, something fell out on our dinner table. 

A vision of the dark sea and uneven shore, ceaseless mumbling voices above them. The waves spreading on the sand with audible sights. The lantern in my hand, sizzling, spittering, spewing out profanities...

Whyborne took that something, and the vision crumpled, diminished, never fading completely out of sight. No sence of danger and no magic glow, that was strange indeed. 

"Spectacular," said Whyborne. "What's in the letter?"

I read aloud. 

"'Dearest Dr. Whyborne, our contravolitional homologue on the contemplational journeys of the Concealed and the Bewildering and mayhaps even the Correspondence...' it really is capitalised... 'We are eager to request the honor of Your presence to attend the One and Unequalled Clandestine Symposium on...' there is a long dotted line, have they forgotten to fill the theme? 'We shall be tremendously pleased for any contribution of Your authorship, most significantly concerning the Second City or Other (Epigeous) Neaths. Given the circumstances of Your hodiernal residence, we have taken the liberty to send You a satisfactory amount of Appalling Secrets to cover Your travelling expenses. No reimbursement needed. The Symposium shall begin at midnight of the Midsummer Eve This Year at Benthic College, the University, Fallen London, Neath. Accommodations, appetizers and refreshments shall be covered by providers. No Rubber Allowed! With expressions of the immeasurable esteem, the Benthic College Collegium.' And there're every sort of degree and title, all af them utterly nonsensical to me. 'Professor Denuntiatus of... Infernal Rarefactions?' What does that even mean?"

"What? Never heard of it."

Whyborne snatched the letter from my hands and reread it himself.

Meanwhile I turned the envelope over the table upside-down. Something other showered from it. A couple dozen items; if you listened closely, the hairs on your neck would stand on end. I desided not to listen. 

"I take it these are appaling secrets? What a preposterous joke," said Whyborne helplessly. 

Unfortunately, we both knew it was no joke. Not with our luck, anyway. 

Whyborne didn't write any answer and naturally didn't come to the Symposium. All the enigmatic items, in common with the mysterious letter, ended up in the locked drawer of my table. 

* 

No one spoke of London. No one spoke of Fallen London all the more. It was as if everybody agreed not to notice it. And there, beneath, there was something happening against the very laws of nature, natural philosophies and common sense. Few, apart from spies and diplomats, dared to descend, and fewer yet came back with bewildering stories, with blueish-white faces from being too long underground and - more often than not - somewhat mentally deranged. 

Darkness, deepness and madness. I've never been to this place and I hated it fiercely.

*

In the next few weeks we recieved several other letters and even parcels. There was nothing dangerous inside them but the more we got, the more restless I became.

The letters were mainly invitations. If what was written was true, Whyborne was eagerly awaited at the Dilmun Club, in the archaeological expedition (for some reason a nautical one; Whyborne made an effort to hide this letter away from Christine), they invited him to the opera's premiere, to the Duchess's salon and even to some secret society; a mysterious corresponding person wouldn't tell it's name or the nature of its occupation for the world, so we couldn't find anything about it in the "Unaussprechlichen Kulten", Whyborne's favourite book.

There was something else appended to every letter. Large pearls, glowing cold and strange. A dozen lopsided candles made of greenish wax, which I forbid to light and Whyborne consented, to my surprise, without argument. Pieces of amber that yielded slightly to the touch and strongly smelled of ambergris and salt. Small craggy demigod figurines made from mottled stone. A dark bottle with obviously expensive wine of '44, if the label was anything to go by, but inside wallowed something thicker than any old wine. Heavy slivers of bright gold metal that always stayed warm. And many other trinkets which I couldn't describe, but which, if touched, whispered outrageous compliments or shared somebody's secrets or simply gossiped about persons unknown to us. 

Even I recieved such a letter eventually. Fortunately it was brief and of social nature only. A lady by the name of Implacable Detective wished to make an acquaintance. She put her business card in the envelope. Who would've thought that I could find a colleauge even down below! 

Finally, one fine summer evening someone knocked at our door.

"I wish to speak to Dr. Whyborne," creacked the cloacked figure. "I came in peace."

Beneath the low hood one couldn't even see their eyes gleaming. But despite all the suspicioness of their visit, I didn't perceive in them any magic. They were surrounded by a strange smell though, exotic spices and apples. 

Whyborne agreed to speak to them in the dining room. The mysterious person sat on the edge of the armchair. They haven't taken off neither their cloack nor their gloves. They were slouching oddly and I was very tempted to reach for my revolver. 

"You are ignoring all our epistles so consistently," said our visitor in a quiet, too-high voice. "One may think that you absolutely refuse to pay visit."

"One may be absolutely right," said Whyborne. 

"Well, it's your loss then. We have many things in the Neath unbeknownst here. Curiosities and wonders. The climate is rather mild and stable. The marvels of sciences and... not only sciences. The freedom of mind and knowledge, up to certain limits by extension, but I personally can assure you that these limits are quite wide. Fine food, wines and, naturally, immortality. And the dreams would never keep you bored! Without doubt you could make a breath-taking career there. And of course your companion, too. I hope you forgive me if I allude that we, in the Neath, wouldn't condemn you in the slightest."

I shivered. Whyborne blushed, as expected, but shook his head:

"Thank you for your offer, but no thanks. I'm a regular homebody. I was born in Widdershins and don't have any desire to leave it, even for a short while."

"Ah!" our visitor raised their long, croocked finger. "I was hoping you'd mention that. It is absolutely possible for you to never leave you own home and to revel in all the luxuries of the Neath at the same time. Just for you of all people. In exchange for the littlest favor."

"What do you mean?" asked I coldly. "What is this favor?"

"Widdershinsss," hissed they. "The Sixth City. It does have a certain ring to it, doesn't it?"

"It sounds detestable!" Whyborne straightened in his armchair and I saw the first sparks of magic around him. He was exceedingly angry. I lowered my hand, touched the handle of my revolver. 

"Oh, there is no need for this!" assured us our visitor. "Although your shared understanding is quite spectacular. But I'd come in peace and in peace I shall go."

They hesitated visibly and then added in the even more hissing whisper:

"If someday you decide... though not yet to descend to the Neath, but simply to benefit from your... story of romance..." they swallowed convulsively and I felt disgust, "you know whom to turn to. Hereafter, let me make my bows and goodbyes."

They didn't bow actually but they left our house, rather fast although. I locked the door and leaned against it from the inside. 

*

At night as we lay in each other's arms we found the courage to speak about what happened. Most of all I wished I could convince myself that nothing did. Never, ever think about it. Whyborne, my dear Whyborne, was braver than this, as always.

"You know, Griffin," said he, "I'm truly wounded. These from below could learn beforehand whom they're trying to deal with and don't waste their time and efforts."

"You couldn't really blame them so hard for peace overtures, could you?" I objected weakly. "But if they don't give up on it..."

"They are going to regret it," declared Whyborne. "You do know that I'd never descend there willingly, don't you? Let alone allowing them have Widdershins. Here is my home. And you," he whispered.

I felt hot all over again. Oh my. Ever since he found self-confidence, I wanted him more and more. If someone'd said it to me before, I would've found it unbelievable. Whyborne looked at me and his eyes were lighted by magic in the dimness of our bedroom. He knew, or at least suspected (although I'd rather not underestimate his ability to put two and two together), how it was affecting me. And my reaction fueled his self-confidence in return. 

An endless circle. But I didn't want it to end. Oh, no. Ever.

*

Letters and offerings ran out over time. We put the already recieved ones in the drawer and locked them away. Sometimes, especially at night, I hear rustles and indistinct whispers from there, but I learned to let them pass unnoticed. 

Our life returned to its pevious flow. It's not so peaceful, to be honest, but I really like it.

But every time as I see bats dancing round Widdershin's new electric lanterns, I feel unease. I fear they are looking for the convinient price to offer Whyborne in exchange for the city. 

I dread that they'll find it someday.


End file.
